


these are hard times (for lovin')

by jessequicksters



Series: golden ages [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (mostly), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, First Time, Fix-It, Fluff, Getting Together, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, a secret notebook, that belongs to tony, this isn't Gone Girl don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21662611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessequicksters/pseuds/jessequicksters
Summary: Love is a hard thing to build for two people trapped in the never-ending cycle of war. After closing the case with Tony's parents, it seemed like Steve and Tony were finally able to breathe for a moment.Well, there was also the matter of Tony trying to sleep with him the night Steve had told him that his parents had been murdered.(In which they're striving to move forward together; Tony still has a lot of emotional wounds that need healing; they're making the best of what they have and Steve's trying, goodness, doing his god-damn best to get into Tony's pants.)
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: golden ages [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1354447
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	these are hard times (for lovin')

**Author's Note:**

> so this whole situation was very briefly referenced in the first part of this series, 'a finite resource', with very minimal detail, but now it gets its own fic!

Tony doesn't bite as much during their usual stand-offs these days—not since they uncovered the truth about Bucky and his parents. Steve wouldn't say that it drove a wedge between them because it's always been there, that tantalizing degree of separation between him and Tony. They're constantly wrestling a battle of reality, guilt, love, and the truth.

They dealt with it together, as Steve promised they would. Even with all the ugly secrets that Zemo tried to bury under, just so they would spring back up from the dead, the situation never managed to quite break them apart. Steve only has Sharon to thank for the push to be the first to tell Tony before he found out on his own. That was one moment of courage that he prides himself on every day.

Now Bucky's recovering in a safe facility and Steve's only glad to have both his best friends alive—to be able to breathe for a minute, at least. 

Well, there was also the matter of Tony trying to sleep with him the night Steve had told him that his parents had been murdered.

But Steve doesn't bring that up. He hasn't even given so much of a hint regarding the events that transpired that night, perhaps over a little too much alcohol and a little too much-unchecked longing bursting from the seams on his part.

Instead, Tony's been spending a lot of time by himself with a pen and a notebook.

Steve notices the way Tony slams the book shut when he walks into a room, then rises to top up his coffee, or leans back into the couch for a slow exhale. Steve chooses to sit next to him this time. He lets Tony rest his head on the crook of his shoulder as he pets gentle strokes onto his hair. They've been physically comfortable with one another, like anchors hooked onto each other.

Tony hums under the touch, eyes gracefully closing. "It's been a slow few weeks. I need to punch something."

"Paperwork doesn't do it for you?" Steve says, watching as Tony's forehead creases.

"Don't even say the word, I swear, I can't look at another inventory form—I should just take it away from them. All of my toys. Back under my name. At least in Stark Industries, we won't be caught up in a bureaucratic nightmare."

"Says the guy with a billion-dollar multinational."

"Yeah, but I'm on top," Tony whines, but stops when he remembers this is _Steve_ he's talking to. He sits up, looking at him, as Steve settles an arm around his shoulder.

"Must be so hard, sitting on top of all that money."

"You know what I mean. I have oversight—"

"You can't see everything, Tony. You have thousands of employees, assets moving around every day."

"That's why I built JARVIS, he does all the work for me, and before you say it—did you just come here to lecture me about how I should be content about operating under S.H.I.E.L.D's inefficient processing systems? If you're not going to cut to the chase, then I'll say it: I've been feeling emotionally distant, as my therapist used to say."

Steve frowns, instinctively shifting closer. "Tony, you can tell me—anything. Anything you need."

Silence fills in the air for a brief moment, before Tony leans forward to kiss him. Steve doesn't push back, smoothly wraps both arms around the other man and holds him tight. He's learned, over the past few weeks or so, that this is what Tony does when he panics. He kisses Steve, and sometimes he cries and gets angry about the world and everything else in his life, but he never talks. Not like they used to. Not since Steve dropped the bombshell about his parents.

There was a time when Steve was the one who was closed off, and Tony was the one to probe and pry into every little corner of his head, heart (and on one occasion, his pants) and Steve just didn't know how to respond to any of it. He's scared that he's already missed his chance.

Suddenly, just as Steve's losing himself to Tony's lips, the other man pulls away. Steve's eyes drop to the creases on Tony's navy shirt, and his gaze lands on the bit of exposed skin on his chest. He feels himself getting hot and longing for something close enough to touch.

"Are you okay?" Tony asks him, which is not how this is supposed to go at all, so Steve quickly nods in response.

"Anyways, what I've been trying to say is, I don't want you thinking about this too much, because this whole situation is multiple levels of fucked up already, but I wanted to say thank you," Tony blurts out. "For telling me about Bucky and my parents, for being here, and for just being... you."

Steve struggles to look directly at Tony sometimes. He knows when Tony is conflating anger for hatred, friendship for desire, and the truth for a knife. In all honesty, it scares him, what it might do to him if he started seeing himself the same way Tony did sometimes. He's known this since the minute they met: Tony has the capacity to _want_ so much at once, which is the opposite of what Steve had trained himself to do for so long—life was about duty and _need_ , and he's denied himself every inch of _wanting_ for as long as he's known himself.

Enter Tony Stark, prying into his psyche and asking him over and over again ("What do you want?") like he's clawing the answers out of him, forcing him to turn his own flesh and skin inside out, and now he's looking at him, _thanking him_ for uprooting his entire world.

"Tony, I don't deserve that. I only did what any decent man would hope to do."

"But that's exactly it, Steve. I never asked for any of this. If it were up to me, I would've made sure that we had fucked each other senseless that night, and god knows where we'd be now. I just wanted to be sure." He must've noticed the flush on Steve's cheeks because he smiles a little then. 

"I think I'm getting there, to closure, and god, do I want you, but I'm trying to be sensible for once in my life because I think if I sort out whatever's in here first—" he gestures at his head with a hand, "I think I'll be worth it for you."

"Tony—"

"Shut up, just shut up," he presses a kiss to Steve's lips, "this isn't a pity party. I just want to be worth your time, Steve Rogers."

Steve leans into the kiss again, forehead pressed against each other, as he looks into Tony's deep, brown eyes. "You're worth every damn second."

-

Two weeks later, after the two of them had been sent on missions on opposite sides of the country for the duration of, they bump into each other in the lobby of S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. Steve's just gotten out of his uniform and is wearing a fresh off-white shirt, sleeves rolled up, with black jeans and a clean pair of Oxford shoes that Natasha had ordered for him. 

Tony bursts through the front door with a heavy metal clang, donning full armor, in the middle of an argument with Fury, who seemed to be in his rarely-seen combat gear. Steve notes the guns on his utility belt, the bullets slung across his shoulder like a deer hunter. They're not due to be back for at least another week, so something's gone wrong, it seems. 

They catch a glance at each other from across the room and smile at each other. Tony purses his lips, signaling to give him a minute. Fury turns towards Steve and stares at him for a good second or so, before resuming the screaming match in front of every junior agent trying to look away as they walk past. 

-

"It's really not that serious," Tony says, cleaning out the armor in the lab. He has the notebook with him, too. Steve wonders if he'd brought it with him on the mission. "I think I've made my point."

"I trust you," Steve says, leaning on the counter, trying not to step on any pools of grease on the floor. "Do you need me to do anything? You know I've had my fair share of arguments with Fury, too."

Tony waves him off, stepping away from the armor as the bots take over and spray some foam over it. Tony starts choking on the aggressive spritz of water and various chemical cleansers, as Steve swiftly pulls him away from the line of fire. 

"Jesus, guys! In the corner of the room!" Tony orders and the bots start whirring the suit and the rest of the chaos away from them. 

"Let's go out tonight," Steve says, still holding Tony in his arms.

"Tonight? It's nearly eleven."

"Tonight. Come on, we haven't seen each other in ages, and I miss you," Steve says, leaning into the crook of his neck to plant slow, deep, kisses onto his tender skin. He's missed the scent of Tony, the way his hips feel when Steve digs his thumbs into them, the way they feel pressed against each other's bodies, and yet—they still haven't slept together. It's almost beginning to feel like a cruel joke; Steve can't believe that he's the one left hanging in desperation. 

Tony hesitates for a moment, and Steve can feel it in the way he holds his breath when he's being kissed all over, but as soon as Steve looks at him, hands brushing against his jawline and cheek, it's over for him.

-

Later that night, or early the next morning, rather, Tony's crying out Steve's name so loud it nearly drowns out the 80's rock that's been playing in the room since they got back home. They drove out of state for pizza, at some joint Tony found by asking JARVIS to look for highly-rated, quirky places on Yelp. Neither of them felt like drinking, and for some reason, the next most-sensible option was to order two rounds of coffee.

Steve doesn't actually absorb caffeine any differently than normal people do, which is how they ended up wide awake in the twilight hours, driving up the coastline, through a couple of college parties, a traveling circus setting up in the middle of the night, some fishermen packing up their catch, and past a metal concert that had just ended, a flood of people dispersed into the streets. 

Steve had never felt this before—the high of life in America in a time outside of war. Not that Tony Stark was the man to be with if he wanted to forget about war; the man was born of war, even more so than Steve himself. If Steve was forged in the war; Tony was what came out of it. So these are two people inextricably bound to death, tragedy and the shortcomings of America all in one and yet, whenever they're together, Steve can't help but imagine a better future for them. All of them. He isn't sure what that looks like, not right now, but it's waiting over the horizon.

Right now, the only future he can bring his mind to think about is the one where Tony comes with his name on his lips, affirming everything he's  wanted  since they first met. It's electric, the feeling when Steve's inside him, on top of him, moving so fast the two of them could break. He tries to keep a steady rhythm for Tony, who's wanted this as much as he has:

_ "I shouldn't have kept you waiting so long," Tony says breathlessly, as Steve pulls his shirt over his head, locking him under his gaze as he crawls on top of him on the bed. _

_ "Doesn't matter, you're here now," Steve replies, eyes glazed over with caffeine and lust. _

_ "I dream of you," Tony says, watching as Steve unbuckles his belt with shaky hands. "Do you want me to tell you what happens in them?" _

_ Before Steve can manage a reply, Tony grabs onto his hips and his mouth is tight and hot around Steve's cock. Steve makes a sound that can only be described as a strangled whine. _

_ When Tony's mouth pops off: "Funny, I wasn't too far off." _

-

Tony's singing in the shower when Steve finally wakes up. Whitney Houston. He reaches over the table for a glass of water but accidentally knocks something off instead.

He leans over the bed and picks up Tony's notebook. It fell on an open spread, and Steve doesn't like to pry, but the words are there, right in front of his sight when he lifts it up to replace it on the table.

_** 17 August 2015. **It's done. We've settled matters with Bucky and closed the case on my parents. It doesn't feel real. I can't say what it is I'm feeling right now, but I can say what I'm not feeling: _

  * _bitterness_
  * _hurt_
  * _jealousy_
  * _shame_
  * _regret_



_ I can't remember the last time I felt none of these. Maybe I'm slowly losing touch. _

_**21 August 2015.** Steve keeps coming over. He's so good to me. I need him to be good, to stay good, or none of this will work. I'm susceptible to bouts of hostility ~~and I'm not the person who—~~ _

_ I'm too breakable for my own good. I look at Steve once, twice, in the middle of a crowded room, and the moment I know he sees me and smiles, I'm in a million pieces on the floor.  _

Steve scans a couple of pages forward, and lands on the latest page, from yesterday:

_**1 October 2015.** I'm slowly feeling everything again, the anger, the bitterness, the fucking self-loathing. Fuck HYDRA. Fuck Fury for denying it right to my face. ~~Maybe next time, I should show him—~~ _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_ It doesn't go away when I'm around him. I don't think it ever will. _

_ But I think he knows that and still sticks around anyway.  _

_ I love him. _

-

When Tony opens the bathroom door, he's greeted by a hug and a searing hot kiss on the cheek from Steve.

He blushes, basking in the affection as he closes his eyes. "Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Rogers."

He drops the towel he had in his hand. Steve picks him up from his feet and despite Tony's halfhearted objections to manhandling, he tells himself he's going to let it slide, just this once. 

Steve sets him down on the bed, sprawled out, naked and still damp from the shower and looks at him like he's a very expensive piece of art he's been waiting to be auctioned off.

"I know last night was nice, but are you going to make me go again just to make up for the fact that I made you wait so long?" Tony jokes, although his tone isn't as sharp as it usually is, not with Steve lowering himself over him, hands sliding up his torso, brushing against the hairs on his chest.

"Make you?" Steve laughs. "Tony, if I was so terrible..."

"Maybe I can teach you a thing or two, if you're still here, that is."

Steve hooks an arm under the curve of his back and Tony instinctively releases a soft moan, arching his back up, hips rising to meet Steve's.

"I know you think that we've got it bad," Steve says, "that nothing ever goes right with the two of us, especially in this line of work, and I'll admit that it's hard for me, too. It's hard for me when we fight; when we're made to fight; when it feels like we're pawns in a never-ending war in this world we live in. But at the end of the day, Tony Stark, you are not a hard man to love."

Tony's jaw nearly drops, because what the hell? He was the one planning to make a sweeping romantic statement to Steve, but now he's been beaten at his own game, and he's red all over, and there's a warmth at the pit of his stomach that's probably not going away any time soon, especially as long as Steve keeps looking at him like that.

"Are you saying—" Tony starts.

"—Yes."

"Because I was gonna—"

"—I love you, Tony."

He leans up to drag Steve into a kiss before either of them spend another damn second _talking_.


End file.
